Sunday, March 11, 2012

I celebrated my 33rd birthday in a way like any
other day of my life on the 25th of February, Saturday – fifteen
days ago. (Let me ‘like’ those who greeted me personally, others through Facebook
and mobile phone and one good and special friend used both to my heart’s content)

After staying at home for lunch, and to complete my day I
went to the Abellana Sports Complex Olympic size swimming pool in the afternoon
– perhaps, next to our home (and massage parlor) – is where I take refuge more
often, to wash away anxieties and stress.

It is common knowledge at home and to my circle of friends
that I am not comfortable in a superb or even simple celebration. But I forgave
my mom for preparing sumptuous foods (by my own standard and my favorite) –
grilled fish and sea shells.

After “sweating” at the pool and my blood circulation
increased after alternating freestyle and breaststroke for 30-minute slow swim,
completing my 10-laps or 500 meter or half-kilometer, I went directly to the University of San Jose Recoletos – Basak Campus for
the annual vocation jamboree of the Archdiocese of Cebu.

It was during my almost three-hours of stay in an overnight
event dubbed as “an overnight experience of prayer, sharing and encounter” that
I remembered my childhood memories and dreams – to serve the Roman Catholic
Church as a priest and some other unforgettable reminiscences.

Don’t mistake me as a devoted Catholic; I was labeled as an
atheist by my friends from Philippine Atheists and Agnostics Society (PATAS).
But I consider myself a dialectical-materialist. Often, discussions about God,
seems to me -- pointless. Why I went there is another story.

Of course, in a deeply Catholic country, almost every child has dreamt of becoming a priest – driven by childhood obsession of holiness and deteriorating
cultural influences.

My memories as a child is so clear that forgetting or
ignoring it is difficult.

Constructing a tree-house or
deconstructing anything electronics and designing a mini-boat with servo motor
was my favorite. It culminated when the lights in our altar exploded after I
exchanged its electrical wiring. Of course, I don’t have any idea how
electrical connections work before. My engineering background in college
completed my childhood longing.

But playing traditional (Spanish
inspired?) games like bato-lata, tago-tago, patentiro, balay-balay, marbles and
an American inspired games like baseball (yeah, I played baseball before) and
basketball occupied most of my teenage years.

Bato-lata was one game that hurt
me when my stomach was hit by the slipper and I collapsed. The game-ended the
moment I was hit and my neighbors joined me and offered first-aid at home
waiting for my immediate recovery. I remembered one childhood-friend telling
another friend to bite my little finger. We all laughed after and a typical
childish blame-game followed.

Of course, I also like tago-tago,
usually done after dinner with like-minded neighbors. Balay-balay, (hmmm) I
always played the head of the family, or the leader. And sometimes, I end-up as
a king or a general commanding the presence of young soldiers, followers and
slaves.

Rarely, we also jog around the old
MactanBridge (no other bridge before) and biking
was an integral part of my childhood. Almost every morning I biked with friends
for about four kilometers (round-trip) to buy freshly baked pan de sal (salt
bread). Going to the nearest bake house wasn’t easy. We usually chose a
seemingly eerie path surrounded by man-made lakes, trees, birds (egrets and
tingkarul) and decade-old bamboo now replaced by an export processing zone. We
did not compromise the longer path to the shorter one. It may not be eerie but messed
up with dogs barking at the top of their lungs was too much for us even if it
meant passing through a military hospital.

On weekends, we explored the
mini-forest inside the military camp or swimming at Mactan’s white sand beaches
accompanied by dogs in a time when all beaches are public and sea-horse abound.
Or swimming in a man-made lake and taking good care of our cows and goats
roaming around freely. While waiting for the sunset to finally hide, we also
hunt lizards and birds, but never snakes.

Memories also included hanging out
with fellow boys and experimenting sexuality. Group masturbation with fellow
males or sex with the opposite sex became an experiment. Given the close-knit
relationships within the neighborhood, it existed secretly. Sexual secrets of fellow teenagers were
shared, and we were elementary kids then.

My childhood was also a period of
neighborhoods knowing each other fully. Respect was so high and we treated each
other with deep regard. We were few then and when a friend or a family traveled for a
vacation, life in the neighborhood seems dull. Seeing them again after a week or
months of absence offered another hope to rekindle friendships and camaraderie.
Sharing of stories never fade.

Now, I am 33 and my mom asked me
how old am I. Now I am 33 and the world is full of people that it is difficult
to identify who is who. Now, I am 33 and 15 days…

But what distinguishes my
childhood memories and today is the obvious overpopulation, which limits
economic development, limit life-long memories and friendships, prohibit
collective undertakings and degradation of respect for other people.

Often, good old-days and memories need not be captured on
camera for only a great mind traveling in the elusive past can provide a vivid
description and resurrect it in its entirety.

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“What can I tell you of my past, gentleman (he is saying) I was born in a land where the idea of freedom, the notion of right, the habit of human kindness were things coldly despised and brutally outlawed. Now and then, in the course of history, a hypocrite government would paint the walls of the nation’s prison a comelier shade of yellow and loudly proclaim the granting of rights familiar with happier states; but either these rights were solely enjoyed by the jailers or else they contained some secret flaw which made them even more bitter than the decrees of frank tyranny…Every man in the land was a slave, if he was not a bully; since the soul and everything pertaining to it were denied to man, the infliction of physical pain came to be considered as sufficient to govern and guide human nature…From time to time a thing called revolution would occur…”
I could have dreamed of writing it, but I can’t, Vladimir Nabokov did in his book, The Real Life of Sebastian Knight.

Chop suey(Chinese:pinyin:zásuì; literally "assorted pieces") is aChinese dishconsisting of meats (often chicken, fish, beef, shrimp or pork) and eggs, cooked quickly with vegetables such asbean sprouts,cabbage, andceleryand bound in a starch-thickened sauce. It is typically served with rice but can become the Chinese-American form ofchow meinwith the addition of stir-fried noodles.

Like “binignit” usually eaten during Holy Week and best served when hot, I hope to make your stay in my site holy and hot. Hope you also experience the “taste” of vegetable “chop suey” and may your taste stands out — like mine.